The Taste Of Ink
MysticShadowWanderer

Disclaimer: I never really wanted you to see the screwed up side of me that I keep locked inside of me so deep.

Chapter Four: I'm tired and I've felt it for a while now
"Excuse me?" Am I hearing this right?

"I didn't kill them." Yes, I am.

"Then why the HELL are you saying you did?" I knew there was a reason that I've had no luck thinking of any reason whatsoever that she would have to kill those people. At least that makes me feel better, if only a little in the light of recent revelations.

"Because I am honor-bound to do so."

There's a long, awkward silence in which I try to comprehend her insanity. Sure, honor's all good and well, but this is her own life that she's putting on the line here. No way the American justice system, as godawful as it is, will let a serial killer like this escape the death penalty. It's not that I haven't seen my clients get harsh sentences before, but goddamn I hate to lose.

I'm trying to piece this together. "So... what you're saying is that you're actually innocent, but you are going to let yourself go through court as if you weren't, and I have to convince the jury that you're not." That doesn't make any sense now that the words have left my mouth. Dammit, I hate it when that happens.

"Precisely." I guess it made enough sense to her.

"Shit."

"Exactly."

The conversation just went downhill from there. Lying in bed once more, I feel like I don't know up from down anymore. All of this stress is going straight to my head; I need a vacation. At the thought, I indulge myself in a sarcastic smirk. I haven't had a vacation in, well, ever. I've seen the world, and it was only so-so. There's no reason for me to go slack off on some remote island or whatever it is that people of my wealth do when they take time off from work. That makes me wonder, am I even allowed to take time off work? I never cared, so I never asked, but the idea is interesting. It seems as though assassination is a job where I'm completely at my superior's will and whim. Now that I think about it, I've always lived as if I'm on a short leash. That kind of sucks. Once again, I ponder over what I've gotten myself so deeply into.

I don't like to think this much at times like these, but my mind won't fucking shut up. This always happens to me. The one time I don't want to deliberate over myself, or the meaning of life, or whatever I happen to have on my mind, as opposed to all the times that I actually do want to think about it, I can't stop thinking. And it's so much thinking that I'm confusing myself. That's it. I'm not going to put myself through this torture.

Ignoring the fact that I should turn on a light to be able to see properly, I get back out of bed and walk to the bathroom, shoulders slumping tiredly. Assassins need sleep like everyone else, right? Even the neurotic ones? Right. The medicine cabinet in my bathroom is well stocked, even though I don't like to take medication. I don't enjoy the idea of ingesting anything that fucks with my system, it's just not natural. But this is one of those desperate-times-desperate-measures moments, so I'm going to pop some sleeping pills. Three ought to do the trick. Tomorrow's Saturday, so I don't have to go to work, even though I usually do anyhow.

By the time I reach my bed, I'm stumbling through the darkness. All I can think is, 'Shit, that stuff's more powerful than I thought.' It doesn't really matter as I flop down on my bed, not bothering with sheets and blankets, and close my eyes heavily. I've never fallen asleep faster in my life.
Sleep can be powerful medicine, or a vicious taunt. You can either get too little, just enough, or too much. Get either too little or too much and you wake just as tired as you fell asleep, if not more so. It's rare to get just enough, and even more so for me than most people, so I don't really know what it feels like. This morning, however, I know how it feels to get too much sleep, and to be roused from that sleep by an insistent pounding on the front door.

"Coming, coming," I shout hoarsely, my voice still sleep-laden. The knocking doesn't stop. "Goddamn it! Would you quit that already!"

Silence. Beautiful, wonderful silence. Beautiful and wonderful enough for me to drop back down against my pillows and fall right back to sleep. About five minutes later, the knocking starts up again. This time, I bury my head under a large pillow and ignore it.

"Himura!" That's a woman's voice. Oh well... she can wait, whoever she is. I'm already well on my way to being fast asleep. "Himura!" Fuck her anyhow, damn woman. Can't she understand that I'm trying to sleep here? "Goddamn you, Himura! Get your sorry ass over here and answer the fucking door!"

THAT got my attention. I don't even know any women who would be coming to my apartment, much less know where it is, and one who would resort to that language certainly wanted something. What that something is, I haven't the faintest idea.

Still yawning and dressed in the clothes I'd fallen asleep in the previous night, which happen to be a pair of grey cotton "lounge pants" (I don't think I've ever lounged in my life) and a navy blue long-sleeved shirt, I yank the door open with a glare. Much to my surprise, I'm met face-to-face by one Kamiya Kaoru, who looks as if she's on her way to some business function.

"Do you always dress like that?" Is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, unintelligent as it may be.

"No," she says sharply. "Do you?"

"Touché," I mutter as I open the door wider. I can't keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice as I say, "Please, come in."

Now it's her turn to glare. Fairly impressive, I must admit, though doubtlessly much less intimidating than my "Battousai-glare." She brushes past me quite rudely and lets herself into my living room, where she promptly sits down on my black, leather couch.

"Be gentle on the leather," I mention offhandedly.

"I'm not a child, Himura-san," she says coolly. '-San,' is it? I haven't heard that in a while. I'm not sure whether I like it or not. Sometimes I like to think that I left Himura-san behind in Japan, although I know that I'm only fooling myself.

"A thousand apologies, Kamiya-san." I stress the '-san.' This woman is going to hate me by the time we're done with all of this.

To my great and utter surprise, she smiles. Alright, so she's not normal. I should have known that from the start, I suppose.

"What brings you here?" My curiosity gets the better of me. "More importantly, how did you find me here?"

"It was easy enough to find you," she states as if it's an everyday occurrence for a woman to practically knock her lawyer's door down at... what time is it? Oh, at twelve fifty-three in the afternoon. Point: Kamiya. "I just had to ask that receptionist of yours. By the way, she's extremely annoying. Perhaps you should consider firing her."

I merely raise an eyebrow at her; so far, she's not so bad. "She's just gotten herself fired by giving out my home address without my permission."

"Oh good," she says quickly. Strange, this girl didn't seem at all vindictive the first time I met her. Then again, she didn't seem like the type who would allow herself to be tried for murders that she didn't commit. This world is chock-full of strange twists and turns. Sometimes I swear it's just to keep me on my toes. Either that or to piss me off.

"Now, why are you here?" Let's just be blunt and to-the-point, shall we? I'm not in the mood to play mind games or any of that shit.

"I had the distinct feeling that you were going to need to talk to me about my case."

"How very astute of you." All of my muttering doesn't appear to please her, although I fail to see how that's my problem.

"You underestimate me, you know."

"How so?"

"I'm not as stupid as you seem to think."

"Alright, alright." I just can't find it in me to muster up the energy to argue. "Now... I'm still trying to figure out... what the hell is all of this about? I don't understand why you're willing to take the fall for these murders."

"I don't know if you can understand... Battousai..."

"How... how do you know that?" So much for playing it cool. I'm silently damning myself.

"I hear your name constantly," she says in a low tone. "My younger brother practically idolizes you. I wish he'd never gotten caught up in this mess..." She trails off.

"Whoa, hang on a second there. Back up and tell me the rest of this story." I feel like I'm almost genuinely interested, and perhaps even slightly... sympathetic? Is that possible? "I need to know how he heard of me and if I'm in deep shit or not." Should I be watching my language? No, I'm not going to change just because I'm in the presence of a "lady." There are no real ladies in the world we're living in.

"My younger brother goes by the name Myojin Yahiko, mostly because I think he originally wanted to protect me. Either that or I embarrass him. I hope it's the former." Her eyes have lost the brightness they possessed while she was verbally sparring with me. "At the age of ten, he got involved with a gang in Japan. Our parents died when he was nine, which might be part of the reason, I just don't know. Whatever the case, he got too far into the mess by the time he was eleven, so I moved us here. He's thirteen now. Somehow, the move did him worse than better, and he threw himself wholly into gang activities. You have quite a name in the underground. No one knows you by Himura Kenshin, obviously, but Hitokiri Battousai is practically been apotheosized."

"Hitokiri Battousai?" I have to admit, it has a nice ring to it. "This is insane."

"A lot of those people are. I should know, I met more gangsters with psychological problems than I care to remember. What it comes down to is this: My brother got completely sucked in, misled to the point of insanity himself. Those people, those thirty-seven bodies you've seen in the pictures I sent you... he killed them."

Watching her closely, I wait for her to start crying. She doesn't. That's good, for me at least. I don't know the first thing about comforting people, which is what happens when you spend your life not caring in the least about anyone around you. Things happen that way sometimes.

"So you're going to take this on by yourself, because you want to spare your younger brother?"

"Yes."

"It's honorable, I'll admit. Stupid, but honorable." The little bastard gets everything he deserves, I should think. The world needs to learn to take responsibility for its actions. If you kill someone, there's going to be a consequence, and you should take it and not complain. But everyone insists on pointing fingers, placing the blame on someone else. Just further proof that this world is full of cowards.

"You look terrible," she says, suddenly changing topics. I look up at her with a blank expression. "Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

Does she actually... care? "Yes, though you interrupted it when you tried to forcibly enter my apartment."

"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "But it's just that, now that I've gotten tangled up in this murder case, I... well... I'm afraid. For my brother, mostly, but for myself as well. Do you know what it's like in the gang organization of this city?"

I nod; I know only too well. After all, I've killed enough of them.

"Then you know that it's likely that I'll be targeted as the next murder victim, just to get me to keep my mouth shut, no matter what Yahiko tells them."

"Yes. I know."

"What do you suggest I do about it?"

Anyway I look at it, the situation isn't good. The last thing I want is my client dying on me. With the client dead, I don't get paid, and I extremely dislike working, especially as hard as I've been working on this case, without pay.

"I suppose... You can stay here." What am I saying? Did I just say that out loud? Oh shit. "I have an extra room." I meant to say that, I swear.

At first, I expect her to decline. I can tell just by looking at her that Kamiya Kaoru is a very proud person. But these are extenuating circumstances, any common idiot would be able to understand that. So, for the first time ever, I have a houseguest. Or, rather, apartment-guest.

A/N: Bloody hell. I kept telling myself: "This time, I'm going to bed at 11. Promptly at 11." What time is it? 11.37. That 37 minutes of sleep I could have had would have mad a WORLD of difference, I'm telling you. I just couldn't stop writing. This story just seems to be working itself out so well. It's actually pretty fun to write, despite the fact that it's kind of depressing to reflect on how stupid the world generally is. Oh well. Bedtime for me. Man I wish it was summer again... life is so much easier when you can stay up until 6 AM and then sleep until... I dunno... 11 AM. I don't need that much sleep... Just... more than I get for school... I swear they're trying to kill me off early by depriving me of food and sleep...

By the way... this is completely random, but yeah... has anyone heard the song "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin? If you haven't, and you like rock, get it, it's amazing. The video is just... wow... anyhow. That's all.

OH WAIT! No it's not! I have to say: I have this story completely finished, so I HOPE to be updating every one to two days. There are only ten chapters, sorry about that, but I had to end where I thought was appropriate. And before anyone asks, I am saying nothing about anything that happens next. :grin: